


Under the Weather

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Casefic (sort of), Flashfic challenge, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: Phryne and Jack are on the case. Unfortunately, so is the English weather....I chose the prompt "snow--candles--keyhole".





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Any resemblance to this past winter's behavior is entirely intentional.

Jack had moved beyond shivering into a full-body trembling, standing ankle-deep in a drift as snow continued to fall. The weather had been miserable all day, and showed no signs of letting up at nightfall.

“I thought you said it didn’t snow in England?” he muttered, jamming his hands further into his armpits.

“It doesn’t, usually,” Phryne whispered. “Now hush!”

They had crept around the corner of the cottage, but the curtains were drawn, hiding the smugglers from view.  Phryne moved quickly to the doorway, and kneeled down, peering through the keyhole.

“Phryne!” Jack whispered, as loud as he dared. “What are you doing?”

She silenced him with a wave of her hand, then rose and made her way into the hedgerow, taking Jack with her.

“I couldn’t see much,” she said, “they only have a few candles burning. But I think there’s three of them. And a rather vicious-looking dog,” she added.

“Phryne, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. We have to involve the police.” Jack tried to convince her one last time.

“And we will – once we have Bill Rusby in custody. Tomorrow will be too late – tonight would have been too late, if it hadn’t been for the snow. They’ll be halfway across the country by the time we reach Scotland Yard.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest again. They were outnumbered, Phryne with her pistol and Jack with a hunting rifle from the Baron’s collection. In the dark, during a snowstorm…Jack was sure they’d been in worse situations, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment.

He sighed. “Right. How do you suggest we proceed?”

 ***

Bill Rusby opened the back door of the cottage, to find an Australian detective pointing a rifle in his face.

“What th—“

“Bill Rusby, I’m arresting you for the murder of Agnes McCusker.”

“Don’t even think about it,” said a stern female voice to Bill’s left. He glanced toward her. She was pointing a pistol at his men, Tom and Fred, who stood behind him.

“Miss Fisher,” he growled. “I told you not to interfere. You’ll pay for this, _your ladyship_ ,” he sneered.

She smirked. “I think not. You two,” she ordered, gesturing with her pistol “over h—OOF!”

Phryne went crashing down into the snow as 30 pounds of heavily muscled Staffordshire bull terrier landed on top of her. “Phryne!” Jack shouted, and Bill seized the opportunity, grabbing the rifle out of Jack’s hands and hitting him in the face with the butt. Jack fell with a groan. “Leg it!” shouted Bill, as Tom and Fred made their escape through the hedge.

 Jack grabbed Bill’s leg as the smuggler tried to step over him and pulled him down, the rifle flying out of Bill’s hands. They struggled, grappling and punching.

Phryne, meanwhile, thrashed against the weight of the Staffy on her chest, who was ardently licking her face and wagging his tail as if he’d found his long lost best friend. “Get—off—me—you silly beast!” she gasped, finally shoving the dog away. The dog barked excitedly, dancing around her. Phryne scrambled in the snow, searching for her pistol, but gave up quickly when she saw Jack and Bill’s fistfight.

“Bill!” she shouted. “Put your hands up!”

Bill glanced up, hands around Jack’s throat, and got a ball of icy snow between the eyes. “Hey!” he shouted, wiping his eyes. Phryne pelted him again with snowballs until he fell back. Jack found the rifle and pointed it at Bill’s head.

“It’s over, Rusby,” he gasped, blood trickling down his face.

Bill raised his hands in surrender. Phryne grabbed them and put him in cuffs. The dog trotted over and licked Bill’s face. “Stupid mutt,” Bill growled, aiming a kick at the dog. The dog leaped out of the way and Phryne took him by the collar. “Good boy,” she cooed, stroking his head. They hauled Bill to his feet and began marching him back towards the village. The Staffy trotted happily behind them, as the snow continued to fall thick and fast.

“Seems you have a new admirer,” Jack said, then frowned. “Where’s your gun?”

Phryne shrugged. “I’ll find it when the snow melts. I could do with a new model anyway.” Then she smiled cheekily, “In the meantime I’ll make do with snowballs.”

 


End file.
